The Trouble With Forever
by lionessrampant84
Summary: In which I attempt to write a T-rated oneshot in the potc time period and fail at almost all of those things. My original, untainted by the internet take on the end of AWE, so, post-AWE. Very, very, Post-AWE.
1. Part I: The Little Red Bicycle

Standard Issue Disclaimer: I don't own these characters

**Standard Issue Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. Or the parts that I shamelessly borrowed and rehashed from At World's End.

Well, I'm back. I didn't expect to be back, but here I am. This little story was the product of a week off with nothing to do, an overactive imagination, an episode of NPR's **'This American Life' called 'Nobody's Family is Going to Change'**, the album **'Get Lonely' by The Mountain Goats** and the following five fantastic people. Thank them:

**Oh-you-pretty-things** – my one true love, as most of you know. She told me to rewrite the whole thing on day one, I did, and it suddenly worked. Also known for sending me very sexy pictures of a (formerly) very sexy man to keep me going.

**Unacymbal** – because she's patient as heck with me and also very sympathetic. Holds my hand and offers me pets, which I often need.

**Williz** – the original idea-runner-byer. She made sure it all made sense and wasn't dumb. Made hilarious play-by-play comments via email that made me laugh. A lot.

**Jack E** – my fact-checker extraordinaire for everything that takes place in the 18th century. Helped me reach a new appreciation for DMC.

**RoxanneJ** – I'm actually asking her about every little detail of this story, life and every decision I've ever made ever, right now. And she's giving me fabulous advice, such as "You're trying too hard. You should wait for the ideas to think of you."

Basically, this piece is based on my initial reactions to AWE, leaving the theater the very first time seeing it, and has been nagging me since. I missed the scene after the credits because I had to make call to an orchestra concert, but I think I've inserted Mini-Will into this quite well. I have also wanted to write a one-shot that was set in the PoTC era and was T-rated. Well, this thing grew. And grew, and grew a little more. And it sort of outgrew the PoTC era while it was outgrowing standard oneshot wordage. But, I managed to keep it rated T! I'm very impressed at my restraint.

Rating is for mild language and sexual references.

Ok. This author's note is officially way too long. Consider this piece your encore from me and ENJOY!

--

**Part I: The Little Red Bicycle**

**-or-**

**How Long Can We Go On Like This?**

With a glint of silver and a flash of green, her eyes shot open; it was the same every day, actually, the same dream. Didn't bother her any more. She glanced at the clock, which in its bold red block numbers taunted her. 7:45AM. Her heart raced for a second before she realized it was Saturday, and with a slow, deep breath, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up, ready to face yet another day.

Elizabeth was careful not to wake her husband, eager to buy herself a little time. It amazed her how much she craved solitude, given that it was all she really had at the end of the day. She sulked down the hallway and into the bathroom to begin a morning routine that was every bit as banal as the rest of her life: she peed, she brushed her teeth, she washed her face and she studied herself in the mirror, the image taunting her a little more as each day or year or decade passed. It was unchanging. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Then, she would make her coffee, run outside to the front steps and gather up the paper as quickly as she could, preferably without being seen by anyone and then, once inside, she'd sit there in the relative silence of her apartment until her husband or son woke up. It was still hard for her after all of these years to love them, to not resent them. She hadn't chosen this, _wouldn't_ have chosen this. An unwilling player in the never-ending and now almost legendary Turner family tragedy. But she tried with what she assumed to be all of her heart to forgive them. Maybe not hard enough, maybe it wasn't enough, but she tried. This may not have been her fault, but she had promised them forever and forever is what they would get. What she had learned, though, was that forever was an awfully long time.

She heard the bathroom door click shut and quickly pulled the paper out of its little plastic bag. This is how they spent every weekend. He wouldn't bother her while she read and she wouldn't bother him while he spent the day tinkering around their apartment trying to change, alter or improve something, anything, for just for the sake of having changed it. When William woke up, they would do their best to try and entertain him, but she could categorically say that their best effort wasn't much. Therefore, they would likely end up in three separate corners of the apartment, each fighting his or her own internal war. On Monday, husband and wife would get on different trains to get to work and William would…well, she hoped he stayed inside like she'd commanded, but she didn't fool herself. A nine year old couldn't possibly understand consequences as complex as the ones William potentially faced, despite having an unlimited amount of time to ponder them.

Sure enough, Will avoided her completely, only grunting a nearly incomprehensible "thank you" as he walked by with a coffee cup. At this point in their marriage, leaving the exactly correct amount and brew of coffee in the pot in the morning was less a sweet and considerate favor and more of an expectation. She nodded in response and unrolled the front section of the paper, her eyes drawn to headlines about falling markets and rising prices, about one or another candidate's chances in the rural states and the violent situation in the Middle East. It still amazed her that despite having plenty of access to history, each generation consistently thought that theirs would be the last, that their problems were by far the worst and that the incumbent government was surely going to bring about the end of the world. And sure, she'd thought that once, about what should have been _her_ generation. Things, she thought, hadn't become more violent, they'd just become more…televised. She sighed and folded the paper, her eyes catching the date before she discarded it.

It was Saturday, April 5, 2008. She had just celebrated her 288th birthday.

And, the fact was, she was approaching an impasse. Soon, she wouldn't care if Will stayed with her at all.

--

She knew exactly what moment caused everything to veer off track. Or maybe it had been a series of moments. But even after their 'marriage interrupted' as Beckett had called it, as well as the subsequent chaos, when she kissed him in the rain on the deck of the Pearl, she had felt invincible. Time had stopped. All of the risks they faced had been removed. She honestly thought in that moment that they'd be able to go back to the way things were supposed to be, or at least some equally blissful alternative.

She was so sure of this, in fact, that she hadn't hesitated to take on Davy Jones himself when they swung onto the Dutchman. She had even quipped with him a little before drawing her ridiculously heavy East Asian sword, before beginning to fight him. She was on a high for having finally_, finally_ married him (and on _pirate ship_ no less!) as she fought Jones with everything she had in her, her body unconsciously recalling everything her new _husband_ had taught her back in Port Royal during their engagement.

But she had underestimated Jones, or Jones' claw rather, and the next thing she knew, everything went black. And when she came to, she could immediately sense that something was very, very wrong. She could hear Jones' dreadful voice and immediately looked for Will. Her relief upon seeing him was mercilessly short-lived, however, when she noticed his ragged breathing and the fact that he was also sprawled on the deck, unarmed. She froze as Jones raised a sword, the sword that Will had made all of those years ago, to Will's throat.

Her mind wrestled with her body as she willed herself to move, or close her eyes, or something, but she could only sit and stare, paralyzed and hardly lucid. _God_, she hoped or maybe even prayed, _please let this be a dream._

She braced herself as she heard Jones say those words…_William Turner, do you fear death?_...cursing herself for not being able to do anything, cursing herself for having it in her to sit there like a spectator as her husband would inevitably be killed. She hadn't expected to hear Jack, or turn to see him standing there with the heart as though he were some kind of demented angel. He spoke as Elizabeth watched, rapt, willing him to just stab the damn heart. And as it turned out, Jones hadn't been amused by Jack's characteristic banter either.

Her stream of consciousness grew slower and slower as Jones turned around, to the point that she watched the sword plunge into Will's chest frame by frame. She almost wanted to laugh when she heard the sword pierce skin because to her in that moment, she was convinced it just _had_ to be a joke or a mistake; that something this terrible couldn't actually happen, especially not to her. She wanted to close her eyes and curl into a ball until he'd stand up and take her in his arms and tell her it was all ok, then they could go home and start their life together. But she couldn't move. She couldn't close her eyes. She couldn't laugh or even speak or cry.

She gasped and tried to run to him, but her legs betrayed her, as if making it over to him would only confirm the horrible reality of the situation. Will was dying; her Will was about to be gone forever. Something was happening behind her, but she couldn't be sure what it was. All she could see, hear and feel was Will and his labored gasps. Finally, using the wall for support, she pulled herself to his side.

"Will! Look at me! Stay with me!" she demanded of him. Will Turner had never denied her before, and she'd be damned if he started now. But he could only struggle for air and whimper in response, clearly rallying all of his effort to just to keep his eyes on her. Her hands were all over his face, imploring him to just acknowledge her presence. "You're all right!" she simply stated, as though saying it would make it true.

She didn't notice the skirmish between Bootstrap and Jones raging behind her and she didn't notice Jack appear beside her with the heart of Davy Jones. It simply didn't register, what Jack was doing. She watched intently, though, as Jack lifted Will's hand, closed it around what was left of his sword and plunged it into the still beating heart. She just didn't realize what it meant, didn't understand why Jack of all people was pulling her off Will when she was quite content to go down with him. She screamed when he overpowered her, the horror of never seeing Will again was now confirmed, was now a reality that she hadn't prepared for. It still hadn't registered, in fact, when she was somehow flying high above the ocean. She could only watch wordlessly, somewhere between shock and sorrow, as the Dutchman was sucked down into the maelstrom.

--

After having dealt with their depressing morning routine, Will slipped quietly out the back door of their apartment and down the back stairs, totally unnoticed. And despite Elizabeth's thoughts on the matter, he remained unnoticed as he walked down the street. After a long string of failed attempts at putting down some roots and creating the home he'd always wanted to give his wife and child, they'd landed here, in Brooklyn, New York. If anonymity was what they craved, he'd surely found it for them here, because in New York City, no one asked questions. No one noticed anything. And if they did notice anything, they were generally called crazy and ignored.

Will turned onto Bedford Street, the main drag of the neighborhood, which was named, ironically, Williamsburg. It had almost seemed as though it were calling to him when he found out about it, a young and diverse neighborhood, with a high turnover in residency. Mostly students, artists, hipsters and other people who would be incapable of putting two and two together with regard to his family. As long as they could keep William under the radar, it couldn't fail. Its name just sort of sealed the deal. It had to be perfect.

It wasn't perfect. Once again, his best efforts had proved insufficient.

He walked up to a newspaper stand and made small talk with the man behind the counter. He wasn't afraid to do this; there would be a new man at the stand to make small talk with before the old one ever figured out that Will never aged if he figured it out at all. People here just didn't seem concerned with the lives of others, and that was more than fine by him. Will put the money down for the paper…the same one they had delivered to their building. But he wouldn't dare try to ask for it, to try and share it with her. Their sharing days had effectively ended some time ago.

Will turned to walk down the street. He could never figure out exactly why that was. He had done everything he could. He had worked like a dog to be able to afford to get counterfeit documentation for his family, so that they could at least enjoy some of the trappings of twenty-first century normalcy: a credit card, a bank account, a legitimate lease on an apartment and a shiny state ID card for each of them. He was even working as a documented worker, doing something stupid and frivolous in an office downtown. He had always preferred physical labor and working with his hands, but he was happy to give it up if it meant finally redeeming himself for sins committed over two centuries ago.

He had understood and even shared in her pain when they had been forced to move around constantly. But now that they were here, somewhere they could stay for a while, he didn't actually know what he had done wrong. Overall, though, he had gotten the feeling that it had less to do with him and more to do with William. She simply refused to let him share in her private, motherly grief over a child she couldn't nurture and raise. He just couldn't understand why, what he had done or not done to cause that wall to be erected.

But then he did know, didn't he? The fact that he'd made a terribly wrong choice when he was a legitimate 23 year old that had lead to, among other things, his own immortality had sparked a series of unfortunate occurrences that brought them here. All they had wanted in the world was to settle down, to put down some roots, fill their home with children and grow old together. And so far he was batting a thousand, unable to truly give his wife any of those things.

Not being able to have more children, or finish raising the one they did have, had hit them both hardest. He blamed himself, of course, for that, although he knew in some remote corner of his brain that her inability to get pregnant had nothing to do with him. They had conceived William successfully after his heart had replaced Jones', so reason would suggest that it had everything to do with her body's own inability to support an organism who needed to age in order to exist. The baby wouldn't grow inside her as long as she remained, effectively, trapped in time. He knew she knew this, too, and that she hated her condition all the more for it. A condition that, without his bull-headed actions all those years ago, would never have come about. He shouldn't have wavered. He should have kept his eyes, and his heart while he still had one, trained on her.

Will turned the corner onto Metropolitan Avenue and picked up his pace. He continued to walk for several minutes, eventually crossing under the B&Q Expressway. He shoved his paper into his jacket and looked at his watch. He wouldn't be making it home any time soon. Buying the paper had been pointless, like so much else.

Eventually, he passed a toy store. This was frequently his destination, although it forced him to have to consider the problem his son presented. He and Elizabeth could have probably existed with greater normalcy had they not been trying to conceal a perpetually nine year old boy from the authorities. They could have traveled, they could have done more, had more friends. At least for a while longer. And even though it had been his own actions that had brought this all about in the first place, he couldn't deny his son's role in their predicament and the distance that had grown between himself and his wife.

It hurt Will to the core that he harbored resentment for his own flesh and blood, someone he was supposed to love unconditionally. So, he came here because he was simply at a loss for what else to do. The boy's room was full of model trains and airplanes (anything but ships, really) and books and games. Truth be told, Will was running out of ideas as he browsed on that particular Saturday before his eyes came to fall on a shiny red bicycle.

William had never had a bicycle before, at Elizabeth's insistence. And in attempt to not lose any more ground with her than he already had, he generally followed whatever directions he was given, eager on some level to show her he was listening and trying to give her what she wanted, trying to get her to notice him again. After all, though, a nine year old boy would naturally be reckless with a bicycle, and their son was no exception. He'd ride after the other boys in the neighborhood, and eventually he'd fall off or run into something. A normal boy would get bruises and scrapes or maybe even break a bone in the course of owning a bicycle. William would not. And inevitably, someone would notice and they would be forced to flee again.

Will considered this very earnestly for a second before purchasing the bike. And, curiously, as he walked home with it, he wasn't afraid of what might happen and was, in fact, almost giddy with excitement. Something would inevitably _happen_ with the introduction of the bicycle into the household!

And sure enough, it did. William was, honestly and for the first time in years, absolutely delighted at his father's gift. His son's enthusiasm, however, is short-lived and their connection over the moment was very abruptly severed as Elizabeth entered the room, mad as hell. She yelled at William to go back into his room and she yelled at Will, all the things he knew she would, all the things they'd been over before. She pushed past him after her tirade, stomping right into the bedroom and slamming the door shut.

There was a time when he would have felt horrible, absolutely riddled with guilt at having upset her and he would have gone to her and wrapped her in his arms and kissed her gently and reverently. But now, things were different. He felt strangely vindicated. And he didn't want to touch her at all.

--

He noticed her sword in the sand as soon as he stepped onto the island and was slightly dismayed that he had left her waiting. He didn't want to waste a single moment; if this was all he had, he was going to make sure it was worth everything they had to go through for it. For her sake as much as his.

He placed the Dead Man's Chest on a rock and shoved his sword into the sand next to hers and was inwardly quite pleased when the shifting of the sand caused the two swords to lean into each other, forming a cross. A symbol of unity. _Their_ unity, finally, after nearly a lifetime of waiting. He spotted her, perched on a piece of volcanic rock, deep in thought and unswayed by the sound of the sword cutting into the sand. As he approached her, she finally turned, frozen to the spot for a second and the next, running towards him with all of her might. He ran, too, and caught her in his arms. He held her, kissing her hair, her face, and pulling her as close into him as he could manage. He recalled the moment on the deck of the Dutchman, where, in the most intense pain he had ever experienced, he willed himself to keep his eyes on her. He wouldn't leave her. He simply couldn't. But, destiny had a different plan. She had faded from his view.

"I….I thought I had lost you," she mumbled into his chest, eyes wide and wild.

"You will never lose me, Elizabeth," he whispered in reply, meaning with his entire being every word of it. He may have had a destiny that lead him to the Flying Dutchman, but he would be damned if he left her permanently. Still, ten years was a long time.

She kneeled in the sand before him and pulled him down to her level. Few words were exchanged between them in those first few moments, as she ran her hands along his face, studying him intently. He had waited so many years for this moment, and if he were to be entirely honest with himself, he had genuinely doubted that it would ever arrive. To his surprise, he was able to accept it, surrender to it. His hands were around her waist, pulling her close.

When he kissed her, he meant for it to last the next decade. He memorized the feeling of her mouth on his, her lips, her tongue and the little mews she made into his mouth. And then, her hands were on the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head. And for once, he didn't stop her. She had always been assertive and insistent. It was part of why he loved her so much. And now, she was his _wife_, his forever.

The first time they made love, he came almost immediately. He was embarrassed by this, ashamed that he wasn't a better lover, that he couldn't control himself, that it wasn't perfect for her. He had waited so long to share that moment with her, and when it finally came, it was over so quickly. He simply wanted to touch her, to commit every single detail of his Elizabeth to memory: the fit of her body against his, the softness of her skin, the heat of the sun and the wetness of the sand beneath them…and she didn't disappoint him. How could she? She was Elizabeth, after all. She smiled then, and kissed him gently, guiding his hands to her onto body. This was how they spent the rest of the day.

As the sun began to set, the call of the Dutchman began to beat steadily where his heart had been. It physically hurt him, as he wrestled between the Dutchman's call and his raw need for his new wife. In the end, however, he knew he had to pay for what had been done; it was simply his responsibility. As he dressed, he could hear her behind him, busying herself with something in what he surmised had been an effort to detach herself from what was about to transpire. And when he noticed he was short a boot, he had known immediately that she had something to do with its disappearance, a mild protest against the inevitable.

"I'm going to need the other one," Will said, his voice high, almost cracking.

And she _did_ deliver, as only she could, by setting the boot down onto the rock next to him, her leg ensconced inside. She was going to make this as hard as possible, wasn't she? He couldn't _not_ touch her and took the bait, kissing her leg, pausing once again as the pull of his newly acquired ship battled with his desire to have her just once more, to make sure she knew just how completely he loved her.

In the end, the Dutchman won. "It's nearly sunset," he mumbled, getting up. Elizabeth looked out at the sea weakly, as though to confirm; the look in her eyes would have surely broken his heart if there was one to break. His heart! Remembering the most important thing he had yet to give her, he got up and took something from beneath his coat. He turned to face her. "It's always belonged to you," he said, consciously fighting back tears. "Will you keep it safe?"

"Yes," she breathed, "yes."

She came to him and took the chest. He trusted her completely with this venture. He leaned his forehead into hers and they stayed that way for a moment. He desperately wanted to kiss her, just one more time; after all, ten years would feel like hell without it. But then, if he did kiss her, would he find it in him to leave and fulfill his duty? He turned and walked away. He simply had to do this. He had been left without a choice.

But she wouldn't let him leave like that, would she? "Will!" she yelled, and as much as he would have liked to just walk away with that final shred of strength, she would simply have none of it. She flew into his arms and he caught her, eager to make that kiss, that final kiss, last for ten agonizing years.

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon," he finally said, just before leaving her there. He could not believe himself for doing it. He couldn't believe that those were the only words he could muster. But it was too late. He was sure his heart was breaking inside that chest.

--

William locked the door behind him, leaving the shiny new bike in the hallway. He made his way to his window, propped it open with a piece of plywood he'd found in the alley and pushed himself onto the fire escape. Often, he'd walk down the stairs out of respect for his perpetually worried mother (he could only recall about ten individual days of his entire life when she had not been overcome with grief or worry about something), but today he was feeling stubborn, defiant and totally misunderstood. He launched himself off the rickety metal staircase, landing on the pavement below with a conspicuous thud and then stood up no worse for it. It was a game he'd played with himself for over two centuries that never seemed to get old. He took small comfort in that. From the looks of things, he'd never get old either.

He dusted himself off, pleased to see that he hadn't even managed to tear his jeans this time. It was so awful when that happened, since then his mother would question him about it and he'd have to lie to her. He hated lying to her, and he knew it was wrong, but he simply hated being scolded. It wasn't like he could get hurt or die anyway!

William approached a garbage bin near the end of the alley. He didn't have much time, since his mother would inevitably come in to check on him and explain to him, once again, why he couldn't have a bicycle. But, his one and only friend lived back here, at the end of the alley, and he needed to say hello as good true friends do. "Hello?" he whispered as he reached the bin. With that, a scarred black and white tom cat raised his head from the bin and mewed happily. William smiled and dug into his pockets; he never left his bedroom empty handed, and pulled out a few goldfish crackers. It wasn't much, but his friend appreciated the gesture genuinely.

"There you go," William said, feeding the crackers to the cat and scratching him behind his ears. The cat meowed and chattered as though in gratitude, pressing his head into William's hand.

"Yeah, she's mad again. So, I'm out here." The cat cocked his head to the side. "I mean, I know why I can't have a bike, but I really want one!"

The cat chattered back, as he always did, and jumped from the trash bin onto the pavement, rubbing against William's legs. William sat down and the cat immediately climbed into his lap, purring contentedly. Maybe this is why it had been easy for William to make believe the cat was talking back to him. Maybe he just craved friendship that much. But the fact was, he really didn't know the first thing about having friends.

Sure, he had tried to make friends, but the thing was that they grew up so quickly and he was left behind every time, which was one of the few things in his life that genuinely. He'd tried to lie about his age, celebrate his own birthdays, but the fact was, he couldn't keep up. He'd seen it all and done it all, so he knew a lot of things, but there were still so many things that were just beyond his level of understanding.

Take for instance, girls. He didn't understand their appeal in the least, and it made it very hard to keep up with the other boys for more than a few months, it seemed. And it was even too hard to fake it. The thought of doing some of the things they suggested made his stomach turn. Add to that that it was also very hard for him to self-censor…he was so proud of all of his adventures and so it came as an absolute shock to him when no one believed him.

He had tried to prove himself once, and there had been absolute hell to pay. Sitting in a group of boys, he allowed the other kids to try and stab him. When they did and nothing happened, the other kids had not only run away from him screaming blue murder (apparently afraid that he was some kind of zombie), but they had told their parents, who then questioned his mother and father. They had fled their home less than a week later and the silence that had descended over their home following that incident had frightened and unsettled young William, even if he didn't fully grasp why.

So yes, he knew why he couldn't have the bicycle: his mother and father didn't want to move again. He had been surprised, shocked even, that his father had come home with it in the first place. "I don't get it," he confessed aloud to the cat on his lap. "I just wish I could ride it. And I wish I knew why mum's going to get so mad at me! _I _didn't even ask for it!" And he wouldn't have asked for it, because underneath everything, he had had enough time to have eventually arrived at the realization that he was responsible for this. _All_ of this. Whenever that fact surfaced for one reason or another, his heart absolutely burned. His mum and dad were sad and silent because of _him_. He closed his eyes against the weight of that old realization, just like he always did, willing it to just go away.

The cat yawned and blinked slowly at William before jumping from his lap and lazily stretching. "Yeah, I guess I should go back upstairs. Mum's going to want to see me soon," he muttered. The cat meowed in agreement before stalking off. William carefully and quietly navigated the fire escape back to his room, relieved to find the plywood still in place and the door still locked. Without making any noise, he closed the window, unlocked the door and laid down on his bed to await the inevitable, his thoughts turning to only thing he wanted in life: to be riding his shiny new red bike down the street, his parents both happy and cheering him on.

When Elizabeth entered her son's room, she was surprised to find him fast asleep. She sat down on his bed and stroked his hair, feeling her heart clench a little. He was still, after everything, the most beautiful thing she had ever laid her eyes on. Things had just gotten so difficult for all of them, she would rationalize often in these quiet, gentle moments. It hurt her heart to be so hard on him, to rest so much of her own baggage squarely on her son's shoulders. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't let go of the regret and resentment. She felt so ashamed, but she couldn't deny it: at some point in time, her son had become her biggest burden.


	2. Part II: The Unexpected Visitors

Disclaimer: Anything you may recognize from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise belongs to Disney and not me

**Disclaimer:** Anything you may recognize from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise belongs to Disney and not me.

Again, a special thanks to **Oh-you-pretty-things, Williz, Unacymbal, JackE** and **RoxanneJ.** Go team!

So, um…I love reviews. Just so you know  In fact, I love them so much that I'm allowing unsigned ones now.

**Part II: The Unexpected Visitors**

She hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. But, with a flash of green the Dutchman was gone. Simply gone. She stopped breathing, she didn't know for how long, and just stared straight forward. It was best not to move. Moving forward meant having to deal with being alone.

Eventually, the tears came, suddenly and without warning. The sun had gone down long ago and stars began to taunt her as they sparkled and shined in a perfect velvet sky over an eerily peaceful and glassy ocean. Full proof that the world would go on without Will, or perhaps it had just been Calypso mocking her from wherever she now was. She fell to her knees, sobs racking her small body. She brought her hands up to her face, which was red and hot and sticky with tears, and simply cried. And not in the way one simply grieves, but in the way one cries when they have nothing left; no home, no family and no husband. And now, she had a longboat, a sword and nowhere to go.

At some point that could have been several hours later, she felt a hand close around her arm and pull her up to standing. "There, there, poppet," she heard a familiar voice say before she turned to see Ragetti holding her up, accompanied by Pintel and Cotton (and Cotton's parrot). In that moment, she wished she could have felt relief upon seeing them, but she only felt tired and blank, like it was _her_ heart in that chest. She willed herself to stop crying, or at least stop sobbing as they guided her towards a longboat, Pintel saying something that she couldn't quite understand in a soft and soothing voice. They were trying and she knew that, but it didn't help. Nothing helped.

She was more or less hoisted into the longboat and Cotton gently set the Dead Man's Chest in her lap. She wound her arms around it, effectively curling her entire body over it. Inside, she heard a gentle, steady beating. Whatever composure she had managed since her friends arrived to take her away was lost. Gentle and steady. Just like her Will.

It took nearly all of her resolve to climb onto the Pearl. The crew stared at her for a second, before turning away, maybe out of respect or maybe because they were also at a loss. Gibbs approached her, opening his mouth to say something. But when his eyes met hers, he stopped. He reached out his hand and after a moment, she realized she was meant to take it, to follow him. He led her silently to Jack's quarters. "Cap'n says you can have his quarters until we make port in Tortuga," Gibbs whispered. "Says to let us know if you be needin' anything."

Elizabeth nodded weakly, looking despondently around the familiar quarters with wide, glassy eyes. "Elizabeth?" Gibbs asked. She turned to face him, and again, when her eyes met his, he grew silent. He simply looked at the ground and shut the door quietly behind her. Elizabeth inhaled, slowly and deeply, truly concentrating on the sensation of breathing. Something about it was soothing in a way it had never been before, and something about it was making her very tired, willing her to sleep. She hadn't even realized how exhausted she was, how sore she was, how much the chest she was still clutching weighed in her arms. She sat down on Jack's cot with the chest, finally succumbing to sleep.

Her dreams had been troubled and confusing, to say the least. Her eyes fluttered open and she was startled upon waking, to find herself aboard the Pearl, sunlight filtering in through the dirty windows. She clutched her head, which was throbbing.

"Ah, Lizzie," an absurdly cheerful voice said behind her. She identified it immediately as Jack's and turned to face him. "Thought you'd never wake up. Been nearly three days, it has."

Three days? How had she managed to sleep for three straight days?

His tone was suddenly serious. "Eat this," he said, shoving a heavy plate of hardtack in her direction. "Now."

Elizabeth accepted the food passively and broke off a little piece of the food and examined it. Her stomach was turning over and over and her head was absolutely throbbing, but she simply lacked the resolve to eat. She placed the plate at her feet.

"Elizabeth…" Jack sighed. His tone changed. It was almost surreal, she thought, hearing the notes of sensitivity and desperation in Jack's voice. "You need to eat."

She turned away from him.

"Listen, I…I feel…how do I put this? I feel…rather _bad_, actually, about everything." He paused again. "I won't let you just waste away after all that's been done," he said almost inaudibly, as though he were ashamed. Elizabeth simply stared at him; if she weren't still in shock over Will, Jack's tone would have done the job. Suddenly, everything had changed. Just like that.

Jack got up and left. She didn't see him again, though a plate of food would magically appear for her each morning. Gradually, she forced herself to eat, just a little bit a day, anything to stop her head from spinning. And then she would sleep, her body curled around the chest. This continued for several days, until one morning, she could sense that the ship was no longer moving. For the first time in, well, however long it had been, she got up, her legs shaky and unsteady, and walked out of the cabin.

The light hit her face and she winced. Everything around her stopped as the sailors noticed her there, grubby and unwashed, still in the clothes she had been dressed in aboard The Empress. She looked around. Sure enough, they were anchored in Tortuga, and she soon became unsympathetically aware of all of the smells and sounds associated with the pirate port.

As soon as he had been alerted of her presence, Jack approached her with his characteristic saunter. "Ah, Elizabeth! Lovely day, innit?"

She didn't respond.

"No need to be rude, love. Especially since I've gone to the extreme trouble of finding you a place to live."

Elizabeth bristled immediately. A place to live? How could she possibly live here, in a filthy pirate port filled with filthy pirates and their ilk? More importantly, how could she live here when, though her heart hurt at the thought, Jack and his crew were all she had left? "I'm staying aboard," she said suddenly, brazenly.

"Staying aboard?" Jack seemed insulted by the thought. "And doing what exactly?"

"I just need to wash and get some supplies. But I'm staying on this ship."

Jack sighed. "You can't, love. Not like this."

Elizabeth was angry, fuming. Suddenly, from deep within her, a frustrated scream erupted. "I AM STAYING ON THIS SHIP!" Elizabeth wailed, her legs suddenly giving out beneath her, fresh tears flowing freely.

The crew backed away slowly, careful to not pay any attention to the scene that was playing out. And Jack backed away as well, looking some combination of shocked and disgusted. "Gibbs! It seems we have a…situation," he said to no one in particular.

No response. "GIBBS!"

But, there Elizabeth lay, in a tangled heap on the deck. Very tentatively, with an appalled and confused look still on his face, he knelt down. "Uh, Elizabeth? I…um…I'm sorry?" Nothing. "You just…it's for your own good. You can…be with, uh, the other wen- ladies!" Still nothing. Elizabeth continued to wail. Suddenly it came to him! From within his coat, he pulled out the part of the charts to the fountain of youth that he had stolen, just in case.

"Elizabeth," he stated. She looked up at him, finally. "I have something you might want."

She looked at him, eyes pleading. He opened the chart and pointed to the center, the Fountain of Youth. "Stolen charts? she asked. "Why in the—"

"Not stolen, love. Merely borrowed for safekeeping. And, oh, I don't know. These charts point to the Fountain of Youth. And immortal people generally have an easier time keeping alive in the land of the dead, is all."

Suddenly, she put two and two together. If Jack were to bring her the water, then she could find a way to be with her Will, to travel freely off the edge of the map whenever she chose to do so. He eyes grew wide. "You would…for me?"

Jack smiled. "Aye." A pause. "But only if you stay here."

Her eyes narrowed. "How can I trust you?"

He smirked, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Have I ever given you any reason not to trust me? Do we have an accord?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Shall I list all of the reasons I can think of not to trust you?"

Jack merely shrugged. "Suit yourself, love. It's just the one way I could think of for you to…bend the rules, shall we say." He simply got up and swaggered away. For a moment, she thought about it, and then was on her feet.

By nightfall, she was bathed, clothed, fed and in her very own room above the tavern of one Mr. and Mrs. Stewart.

--

It took a matter of mere weeks in Tortuga before the sickness took hold. Elizabeth had simply never felt so ill in her life; too weak from exhaustion to get out of bed and disgusted by every kind of food Mrs. Stewart brought to her to eat. Eventually, she was able to keep broth down and sit up in bed. Mr. Stewart had sent for a doctor and she was thankfully able to tidy herself before he arrived. But as she sat up, she noticed, on top of her aching swollen joints, an aching and swollen chest.

It dawned on Elizabeth before it dawned on the doctor. She was with child. Will's child. She hadn't the emotional wherewithal over the past few weeks to have noticed the absence of her cycle, but it was absolutely clear to her now. As soon as the doctor explained her delicate condition, she began to weep bitterly.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Stewart clicked her tongue in pity. "She's only recently been widowed. Husband was a sailor, died at sea." Or, at least, that had been how Jack had explained it. He had been so much more than a mere sailor, she wanted to shout. He was a pirate. He was a good man.

Hearing the word 'widow' made her cry even harder, it just confirmed once again that she was alone. And 'widow'…she had barely a hiccup of time as a wife under her belt. And now, to be with child! She had never been near a newborn, let alone had to raise one. And she would have to do it alone. Will would have been so thrilled to hear the news and he would have been such a fantastic father, but as it stood, he wouldn't so much as know about his child's existence for another ten years. It broke her heart to not be able to tell him. It broke her heart that she wouldn't be able to share her child with his or her father. But the thing that hurt her the most was that this baby would never actually know his father. It would be impossible for Will to fill that role, only seeing his child once a decade. And she knew that it would tear him apart as well.

It took months, but she settled into her pregnancy with more a sense of duty than the exuberant joy and nervous excitement most mothers-to-be had. There was nothing she could do about it now; truthfully, she hadn't even realized it was possible for Will to father a child in his…condition. She gradually came to accept her immediate daytime reality as a widow but, in her own private moments, continued to nurse her love for Will, to keep it alive. It was in those months that Elizabeth began to talk to the chest, which she kept stashed beneath the floorboards. She did it mostly out of desperation, aided by a healthy touch of delusion, relaying to the heart inside how her body had begun to change and her belly had swollen with the weight of their child, how the baby moved inside of her, what it was like to work in the tavern with Mr. and Mrs. Stewart. Jack had been gone for months, too, and she seriously doubted he'd be back with the water.

It was during that time that Elizabeth began trying to summon Calypso. She talked to several pirates, even negotiating for books and charts to be shipped to her from Shipwreck Cove. She pored over during every moment that she was not working or curled up with the chest. She tried various incantations, silly spells, ridiculous rhymes. She made it very clear that she would trade Calypso anything she had for the ability to see her husband before ten years was up…which, to Elizabeth, translated to immortality. Then, she and her baby could go where they pleased. And she knew exactly where they would go.

Work in the tavern was hard, but it kept her busy. It was a somewhat respectable establishment, a far cry from a place like The Faithful Bride, anyway. At first, the Stewarts kept her in the dining room, serving the patrons. Quickly, though, they realized that not only was she beginning to grow very quickly, but that she didn't seem to welcome any of the male attention. She didn't seem to welcome much attention at all; always polite and quiet to patrons but never making friends beyond a few old friends who called to see her. She accepted tasks that kept her physically busy, doing dishes and laundry and cleaning the half dozen rooms above the tavern as well. It had been an adjustment, to go so suddenly from the governor's daughter to pirate king to tavern maid, but she has always been able to adapt when the situation called for it, reasoning that if she could survive skeletal pirates, she could survive scrubbing floors. Her favorite time of the week was when the Stewarts sent her to market to order food. The time outside provided her only solace beyond her nights curled up with the chest.

One day, it finally happened, while she was sweeping the floor in the tavern below. Pains had begun a few days ago, and they continued, getting closer and closer together. It felt better for her to move around, to be on her feet, and the midwife had advised this. But now, the pains were nearly unbearable and something was running down her leg. She cried out in shock and Mrs. Stewart was there almost immediately, helping her up to her room and undressing her. Soon enough, it grew overwhelming, she couldn't tell where she was or who was with her. In confusion, she cried out for Will, tears running down her cheeks and mixing with the sweat from her brow. She couldn't see him anywhere and she began to panic, the urge to push now upon her. She didn't want to, not without Will. She didn't want to raise a child alone. The pain was terrible; she felt like she was being ripped in half and she was terrified. She didn't want to die, not on land. Not without seeing Will again. She pleaded with Calypso desperately as she labored; she wanted her husband with her now. She wanted to be on the sea, in the land of the dead. But, Calypso, as usual, didn't answer her desperate prayers. The urge to push overwhelmed her. She simply _had_ to.

Just as suddenly as it had started, it was over, and a piercing shriek filled the room. "A son!" the midwife yelled. Elizabeth was panting and crying all at once when someone set the swaddled baby in her arms. The midwife helped Elizabeth guide the newborn to her breast and he took to her immediately. She studied the little boy in her arms and was genuinely surprised at how she immediately recognized the pinched and purple face. He was absolutely the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She pulled him close as he fed and didn't take her eyes off of him as she continued to cry. He was innocent and perfect and blameless. She hadn't expected to fall so deeply in love so quickly.

--

One of William's first vivid memories was of leaving their little room in the inn above the tavern and moving into their very own house. His mother had saved and saved, as far as he knew, by working for the innkeeper and his wife. As time passed, he would realize that her earnings were supplemented, and in no small way, by certain friendly pirates who would frequent the port and visit them. They packed up all of their belongings and after a short journey arrived at a cottage in a more calm area of the island.

The cottage was perfect to William in every possible way. They had their own hearth and table, separate bedchambers for the first time in his life and even study with a desk! William ran happily through the house, as fast as his six-year-old legs would carry him, ecstatic to have his very own space. He loved Mr. and Mrs. Stewart and he loved to charm the patrons of the inn (and charm them he did), but he also longed for a quiet place to be with his beloved mother.

She was now managing the inn, as Mr. Stewart began to age. She was steely and stern when she needed to be and warm and polite, too. She was a quiet woman with few friends, but she had seemed happy enough; happiest, William proudly pointed out to himself, when he let her play with him. He loved her more than anything. He loved her voice and her stories and the way she hugged him.

He had only recently been allowed to run around the town with the other. He loved it, loved to play wildly with the other children, though most of them were older than he was. He found them hard to keep up with most of the time, but loved their stories and games, loved having someone to tumble and run through the streets with while his mother worked.

Of course, being near the other children and subsequently in their homes had thrown into sharp relief the reality that most of the children had two parents. Of course he had known that men could be parents, too; he had seen families of travelers pass through the inn on occasion. He never really thought about it, content as a cucumber to simply live above the tavern with his beloved mother. He had never known any father-figure beyond Mr. Stewart, and had never really even thought to ask if he had one. One of the other children had called him stupid, told him that every kid has a father, but sometimes they die at sea.

For some reason, the new cottage made William consider this new possibility more closely. Did he have a father? If so, where was he? Had he died at sea, like the older, meaner classmate had suggested? There were a few other children in the town missing a parent, so he hadn't been too preoccupied with it, figured that was just how the chips fell sometimes. But the new space seemed almost a little large for the two of them. As if something were missing.

His mother was busying herself with taking bed linens out of trunks when he entered the bedroom. That was the first time he noticed the odd looking chest sitting in the middle of the room, but he simply dismissed it as being his mother's, with her own private possessions. He had more important information to acquire anyway, his possible father being of much greater importance than a trunk full of lady things. "Mother?" he asked, breaking the silence. She didn't even look up. "Yes, William?"

He took a deep breath. He was a little scared of what she might say. Maybe it would make him sad, or mad. But, he was brave. His mother had told him that many times before; he was a very brave little boy. He would ask her, he decided. Right now. "Do I have a father?"

His mother froze, her face went absolutely white. Young William had never seen her like this before, and he _was_ scared. She looked sick, and she looked as though she might cry. William stayed where he was, mouth agape. Finally, she looked up at him, obviously noticing the fear on his face. She went to him and gathered him in her arms. Then, she _did_ start to cry. "I'm so sorry, Will. So sorry," she cried into his hair.

He put his little arms around her neck reflexively, her hugs always made him feel better when he was sad, and looked up at her with his big brown eyes. He felt so confused, so ashamed and seeing the look on hr face made him want to run away. He, for the first time in his short life, wriggled free of his mother's arms and ran away, out of the room, finally hiding under their brand new desk. He hadn't meant to make her sad, he really hadn't. He felt torn, mostly because he still wanted to know. Tears of frustration and regret welled up in his eyes.

Eventually, she found him, her faced red and flushed. "I'm sorry, William, that I…haven't told you. I…it's hard for mummy to know what to say."

William just looked at her, big eyes pleading.

"Yes, you have a father, darling." She swallowed, like it hurt her to say those words. Like, for some reason, she wished they weren't true.

The words hit him with great force, and his insides buzzed electrically. He had a father! But where was he? And why did it make his mother scared and sad to talk about it? His mother continued to weep against her own will.

"Mummy, don't be sad," William insisted.

But she continued quietly, evenly, as though she hadn't heard him. "Your father…well, he'll come back to us….to see us for a little while. Before your tenth birthday. I promise you that he will. He loves both of us very much."

William's eyes were wide with shock. His mind was absolutely flying with questions, but he wanted so badly to not have to watch his mother cry any more. Where was he? Why wasn't he with them? Did his mother love his father? What was his father like? He bit back all of his words, though.

"Mother…" he started.

"It's ok, William. It's ok," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry." She picked him up and went back to the bedroom, sat down on the bed and pulled him into her lap and squeezed him tight. "I just don't know where to begin," she muttered, sighing. William wanted to tell her that it was ok, that he didn't need to know, that he was sorry he made her cry and that he didn't mean to. He was only curious. But she continued. "Your father and I met when we were not that much older than you are now, on the crossing from England. You see…"

And it continued. For hours and hours, the most wonderful stories about pirates and swordplay and ships. Of course, William had been no stranger to pirates. He'd even met some, and growing up in a place like Tortuga, they were simply part of his daily reality. But to think that he _was_ one, at least by extension! The children at school would never believe him. And to think that his mother had sailed with the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow! Everyone knew about him, but he figured they just made him up since he'd never showed up on the island like they all promised he someday would.

But the parts of the story that intrigued William the most were, of course, the parts about his father. He was a dashing pirate, the best swordsman in the Caribbean; apparently even Captain Jack Sparrow had said so! And the way he had bravely saved his mother so many times! William decided that that must be where he got his bravery from, then.

He didn't leave his mother's lap for hours. Eventually, the sun went down and his eyes began to feel heavy. As his mother talked gently about the wedding in the rain aboard the Black Pearl, his eyes began to close and his body began to relax. He vaguely heard something about his father being stabbed by the infamous Davy Jones, and, between waking consciousness and sleep, it made him sad, but he remained blissfully detached from it. He simply drifted into a satisfied sleep in his mother's arms.

William woke up in the middle of the night that night, surprised at his mother's absence. More surprised, though, to hear voices in the kitchen. One he quickly identified as his mother's; a low, stern whisper that took no prisoners. But the other belonged, quite clearly to a man. Men had visited his mother before, but always during daylight, and always at the tavern. He crept into the hallway, and hid behind a washstand to see if he could get a glimpse of the stranger.

They appeared to be having a conversation about water, of all things.

"Really, it's wonderful to know you're safe and well, but you can take the water with you. Surely you have something in mind for its use," his mother said.

"Listen, love," the man's voice said. "Consider it a housewarming gift. I'm only keeping up my end of the bargain and nothin' else. I'm not forcing you to do anything."

"Then why won't you take it with you?"

"Oh, so apparently young William's valor hasn't rubbed off on you." They were talking about him! "The temptation would be too great, then?" The man chuckled to himself.

"Jack, I…I have a life, now. I can…" she paused, her voice dropping. "I can wait now. I have to. I don't need to live forever."

"Suit yourself then." He paused. "Though I'm sure this stuff could fetch a pretty penny in the right market. Know a few men after immortality, I do."

Water that could make you live forever?! Earlier today, he had been just an ordinary boy with an ordinary, working-class mother. Now, he was a pirate whose pirate king mother apparently had access to water that made people immortal. William couldn't have been more excited if he tried.

His mother sighed, then laughed. He so very rarely heard his mother laugh! "It's wonderful to see you, Jack."

Jack?! Jack…Sparrow?! As it turned out, William _could_ be more excited. In fact, he was so surprised that he gasped loudly from behind the washstand. Both his mother and the stranger turned suddenly in his direction. Not knowing what else to do, he stood up, revealing himself. His mother looked at him, slightly bemused and the stranger looked, well, _scared_.

William, for his part, looked equally scared: eyes wide, mouth hanging open, frozen to the spot. He wanted to badly to be brave right then, to show this man, this presumably legendary pirate, that he could be brave just like his father. But the awe was just too great. Eventually, he felt his mother scoop him up. He hid his face in his her shoulder.

"Jack," she said, almost a little too serenely, "I'd like for you to meet William."

"William, eh? Looks a little small to be Will if you ask me…"

"Jack! This is my _son_, Will." She paused. "William Turner, III."

William turned his face towards Jack, finally comfortable enough to study the stranger before him. Jack studied him just as intently, catching him off guard.

"A _son_, eh? The whelp's whelp?" He stared at young Will, squinting his eyes. "Well, he certainly wears the perpetually bewildered expression well. A chip off the old block, I'd wager."

His mother smiled and cuddled William close. It had all been too much for him; the news of his father, all of his mother's stories, something cryptic about his father's imminent return, and then, to top it all off, Captain Jack Sparrow's appearance in his new house! His eyes were growing heavy again as he snuggled close to Elizabeth.

"Jack, I'd better put him down. You're welcome to stay the night it you'd like…" William didn't hear Jack's response, only his mother cooing soothing words in his ear. And with that, they were in his mother's bedroom, William tucked in again. Despite his new room, he was comforted by being with her, just for one more night. He fought to keep his eyes open, as he always did, to make sure his mother made it safely to bed. Most nights, he was unsuccessful and succumbed to sleep well before she did, but something about tonight kept him just barely awake, his drowsy eyes fixed on her.

She was crouched across the room…it looked almost as though she were pulling something out of the floor! But once the object came into view, William recognized it at once: the strange chest he had noticed earlier. As she opened it, he could hear a distinctly familiar sound, almost like a heart beating. He couldn't tell from where he lay what was in the chest but what he did notice was what she put into it. Whispering something like an incantation into the night, his mother carefully placed the vials from Jack into the chest. She closed it, lowered it back into the floor and climbed into bed. Too tired to consider what he had just seen, William allowed himself to drift to sleep, carefully committing everything to memory to be examined later.


	3. Part III: Interlude

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

Special thanks to **unacymbal and RoxanneJ** in particular for making this chapter happen.

Yes, it's very short. It really only exists to provide some contrast to the next chapter and a transition to the chapter after that. And it's here to make you all cry little tears or angst. I'll post the next later this week. 

Ladies and gents, I love your reviews. Thank you to each and every one of you who has taken the time to do so! Reviews are love, and they seriously make my day!

--

**Part III: Interlude**

**-or-**

**I am trying to break your heart**

Will sat down on the bed, too tired to deal with the situation at hand. For approximately ten minutes, the bike had all three of them in the same room interacting on at least some level. And now, here they were in three separate rooms once again, silence continuing to dominate the landscape of their household. On some subconscious level, Will wanted desperately for them to be able to go back to the way things were, the way they were supposed to be. On the surface, he was just completely exhausted by the whole situation. There was, simply put, nothing left for him to care about.

As far as the bike went, though, there was something deeper there, something that absolutely infuriated him. It somehow symbolized that perhaps no matter what he did, nothing would ever change. Not for the better, not for the worse. He laid down, burying his face in the pillow, holding his breath. It wasn't, after all, like he could suffocate.

He heard the door open after a time, hoping against hope that it would be William. He had a better chance of endearing himself to a nine-year-old boy than his more-or-less estranged wife anyway. Of course, it wasn't William and a pointed, demanding voice snapped him back into the present.

"Will. Would you care to explain the bicycle incident?"

He stayed exactly where he was, still holding his breath. He didn't move or respond, after all, he had learned that not moving was the best way to survive these lectures painlessly. Her voice would be haughty and patronizing. He would ignore her.

"I know you're awake. Will. Answer me. Now."

He rolled over reluctantly, concentrating on the ceiling. He didn't want to have to see her like this; red-faced, narrow-eyed, with her hands on her hips and looking at him like he was a naughty child. He sighed.

"Don't do this, Will," she challenged. "I know that we've been over this many times. And I thought we had an understanding about the issue." She paused, presumably waiting for him to respond, to submit as he normally would. "I would have thought that after all these years, about two hundred fifty of them to be exact, you would have come to grasp how we have to live and how we have to deal with our son. The _consequences_."

She drove the last word into him as though she saw it as some sort of verbal dagger. Normally, this is where he would apologize, heave a dramatic sigh and roll back over. Then she'd leave him alone. But today, with that damned red bicycle, was different. He could feel fury building up in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like her tone.

"I don't like your tone," he said quietly and evenly.

She huffed and immediately, her expression changed to one of complete and utter disgust. "I haven't raised my voice. I'm simply reminding you that we have a responsibility to keep William out of sight. What if something _happened_, Will? What then?!" She peered down at him, her eyes challenging and expectant.

"Then," he said through gritted teeth, "something would _happen_." He sat up and looked her squarely in the eyes, which she had clearly _not_ been expecting. A gambit, as it were, by a skilled opponent.

She looked at him, indignant and perturbed, her eyes furious, her voice finally raised. "I can't believe you. I can't believe that after all of these years, you've suddenly decided that there are no rules, that all of the hard work _I've_ put into keeping our son safe!…"

"Safe from what, exactly, Elizabeth?" he said, standing up. The anger in the pit of his belly was now flowing like an electric current through his veins and had taken up residence in his empty chest cavity. She opened her mouth to speak, but, for the first time in his life, he cut her off. "And, being William's father, I was under the impression that I got a say in what he does and does not do." His voice was low and icy, words uttered with authority he hadn't used in many years.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you," she hissed, her voice a stern and steely whisper. "After everything you've done, and you think you can speak to me like that…"

"After _everything I've done_? What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

"Oh, I don't know, Will. Perhaps you remember taking a little side trip after the heart of Davy Jones that cost us _everything_?"

Will felt as though he may explode after the comment. She had gone for the jugular, and she knew _exactly_ where it was, even after years of silence. He simply froze, standing before this stranger who was his wife. He almost wanted to hit her, or storm out and never come back or scream and cry. He swallowed and found his words. "_I_ cost us everything? Because I clearly arranged for Davy Jones to stab me while I was, as you may recall, trying to help _you_," he hissed. "What about you, Elizabeth? Do you have no responsibility in this at all? Perhaps kissing bloody Jack Sparrow cost us everything. Perhaps your refusal to trust me with your little plan cost us everything." He paused. He knew where he could hit her where it hurt the most, as well. And he was sick of pulling punches to keep her on her pedestal. He took a step towards her and stopped inches from her face. "Perhaps, Elizabeth, you should have kept a closer watch over _our_ son. Perhaps if you had, we wouldn't _be_ here."

Tears threatened at the corner of her eyes. "I can't believe you," she whispered.

"The feeling is mutual," he snapped. "Tell me something Elizabeth," he said, relaxing his posture at last. "Do you think it will ever go back to how it was? Do you think it _can_?" He broke eye contact started towards the door, turning to face her again with his hand on the handle. His voice dropped to an intimidating and cold rumble in his throat. "Do you even want it to?"

With that he opened to door and stormed out, slamming it behind him.


	4. Part IV: The Canary in the Coal Mine

Disclaimer: Anything you may recognize from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchis is property of the Walt Disney Corporation

Disclaimer: Anything you may recognize from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchis is property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

AN: Yes, I'm aware coal mines weren't in vogue in the mid-18th century. Just go with it.

**Also, if you like this, you will LOVE the new joint project I am doing with oh-you-pretty-things. **If you liked Music When The Lights Go Out, you will like my new project with oh-you-pretty-things.** We have created a separate account for all of our joint work under the pen name **_**The Shameless Hussies**_**. **It's not listed as Willabeth (though we assure you it is Willabether-friendly) so you may have missed it on your fanfiction searches.** It's called **_**"Life in Mono"**_** and we're feeling very sad because no one has read and reviewed it yet. Sniffles. So go read it!**

**Part IV: The Canary in the Coal Mine**

He had been counting the days. He had been counting them on a dingy old piece of parchment that had, at one point, been a chart. He started at day one, and had now amassed 3,650 grubby tic marks on the paper. Today was the day.

Will, of course, had waited for this since the second he arrived on the Dutchman, strangely spirited away from his new wife by unfamiliar supernatural powers. He had never been comfortable on the Dutchman and had never been comfortable with any part of his new benefits package, as it were. He never walked through walls aboard the ship, never apparated from one place to another. He was, in fact, completely resentful of the whole situation. He hated being an authority, and more than that, he hated the idea of eternal life. Didn't understand what Jack had wanted with it. He would trade places in a heartbeat. If he happened to have access to his heartbeat.

But that's what kept him going, didn't it? Even if it were just one day, one small day every decade, it would be better than having left her forever and worth everything he had to go through for it. It was what he had thought about as they pulled souls aboard. It was what he thought about when nearly all he saw were tired, diseased, disfigured, dying people. It was what he thought about as he pulled rank within his crew, heard them tell stories of their families on the other side, or their conquests ashore. Every tic mark in the parchment certainly felt earned, a reward, a step towards his beautiful wife.

After about six years at sea, he was surprised to meet Jack Sparrow, of all people, wandering the land of the dead in a glorified dinghy. He smiled at the memory. He remembered that his heart sank as he pulled Jack aboard, a little sad that the good Captain's number was finally up. "Jack, I…I'm sorry," was all that came to mind as Will turned to face him after all those years.

"Sorry? Whatever for, young William?"

"Well, I mean…you're here. This is the land of the dead? I suppose I should ask…" Will swallowed and tried to command an authoritative tone. "Jack Sparrow—"

"That's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, mate."

Will shook his head and rolled his eyes. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, do you…fear death?"

"Funny you should ask." Jack grinned. "To answer your question, no. Look what I found. Gonna make me a fortune off of this, I'd wager." Jack opened his hand to reveal several small vials labeled clear as day: _Aqua de Vida_.

"Jack…" Will began.

"Had to go through quite a bit of trouble to get these, I did. But now I'm free to go where I please. Finally. Oh! And I saw your bonny lass not but a few weeks ago."

Will's face lit up, forgetting at once his concern for Jack's interference with life and death. "Elizabeth!"

"Aye, that's the one, mate."

"Well, how is she? Is she safe? Is she happy? Where is she?" Will's voice sped up, nearly cracking with excitement.

"Slow down. Give a man time to think, will you?" Jack sat down on a barrel, making himself right at home, as Jack Sparrow was wont to do. He opened his flask, taking a long sip. "She's fine. She's living on Tortuga in a cottage rumor has it was funded by one Hector Barbossa. Must have felt bad for all the trouble he'd put her through. She runs an Inn, seems to be…stable at least. Your boy's well, too. I swear, he looks just like you."

"My…what?" Will began cautiously.

"Oh, you didn't know!" Jack had seemed delighted by this, if not a little surprised.

"Know…what?"

"You've got a whelp!"

"A…whelp?" Will's voice cracked. "A child? I have a…_child_?"

"Relax, mate. It's not a disease. Although…I am surprised she hadn't thought of some way to tell you about him. Hm." Jack took another long swig of rum. "Mind if I stay aboard a little while? Perhaps until we come upon a ship? You may have noticed that my vessel is a little…inconsequential."

Will had been too dumbstruck to say no, or even to ask what had become of the Pearl. At least constantly looking for it kept Jack busy. But…a child! His child! If he had thought waiting was difficult before that day, it had become damn near impossible then. His mind was suddenly teeming with questions: what was his name? What would he be like? Would he resent Will for not being there? Would _Elizabeth_ resent him for not being there? Suddenly, he was overcome with guilt. He would miss his child's entire life with the exception of a few days. Elizabeth was fierce and independent; he trusted her to make her way without him. And furthermore, she understood his situation, as well as the alternative. But would a child? Could a child ever forgive him?

"Well?" Jack's voice brought him immediately back to the present. Will only nodded dumbly. "That's good, mate, seein' as you're the only show in town."

"Uh-huh," Will said, his eyes still wide with shock.

"Where shall I put my effects…er, _Captain_?"

Will simply continued to stare blankly at the wall. "Uh-huh."

And with that, the Dutchman had yet another passenger. Will quite liked having Jack on the ship. It kept his crew entertained, at least, and gave him more time to sit in his quarters and brood. He felt so painfully alone, even with the addition of Jack. Homesick for a home he had never been to. He didn't even know where it was or what it looked like, but he longed to be there. He daydreamed about his family, inventing his son, envisioning his wife. He would close his eyes and imagine what it would be like to share a meal with them, or sleep in a bed with Elizabeth…

Eventually Jack returned to the world of the living and the days continued to soldier on by, tic marks on a piece of paper. And now, ten years were over and done. A deep pit had formed in his stomach and a large lump in his throat. Not only was he going to see his wife for the first time in ten years, he was also about to meet his son. He played those words over and over again in his head as the Dutchman gained speed towards the world of the living. Meet his son. Meet. Son. It got more absurd and more wonderful every time he recited it to himself. The sun was rising, about to crest the horizon. It would be near sunset where his Elizabeth was.

Elizabeth. He knew she could only be more beautiful than when he had left her. He knew, somewhere deep within him, that nothing between them would change. That they would always be able to go back to the way things were. He organized in his head all of the questions he had for her, so eager to hear it from her, so eager to know that she was safe and well kept. Suddenly, as he attempted in vain to slow his running mind, there was a flash of green and the sunrise was…sundown. For the first time in ten years, he was among the living. The island before him was lush and green and the sea below him was teeming with life. He inhaled. The air was damp and salty.

He looked up at the island the Dutchman was sailing towards. And there he saw them, two distant figures, mother and child. Somehow, by some supernatural pull, the ship had taken him to exactly where he needed to be. Air choked up in throat as he gazed at them, a smile spreading across his face. He wished the ship could go faster. He wished he could be with them right _now_. He closed his eyes…

…and opened them, surprised to feel arms being thrown around him! Somehow, without even realizing it, he had apparated from the deck of the ship right to his waiting family. Suddenly, his ability to do that irritated him slightly less.

He recognized the feel of Elizabeth's body immediately, slightly softer than it had been a decade ago but every bit as perfect. He also felt, sandwiched between them, a smaller and more unfamiliar body. He looked down on a head of caramel-colored hair and a tiny pair of arms wrapped tenaciously around his waist. He looked up, and there she was. He was right. She was more beautiful than she had been when he'd left. Their eyes met for half a second and then they were lost in a mash of sloppy kisses.

Eventually, the three of them parted. "I've missed you," was all he could say, grinning wildly.

Elizabeth simply nodded, tears at the corners of her eyes. Then, she dropped to her knees below the small boy, who had clearly inherited his mother's beauty, his small face flushed with quiet excitement. Will loved him instantly. Elizabeth whispered something into his ear and he grinned, bashful, but clearly not angry or afraid. "Will, this is William." She grinned, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "Your son."

Will dropped down their level and smiled. "Hello, William. Jack told me all about you!" he said, almost without thinking.

William grinned widely and looked expectantly at his mother. Elizabeth was somewhat caught off guard. "Jack?"

"Yes, he apparently came by some water from the Fountain of Youth, and couldn't resist. So, he sailed with me for a while about three years ago." William's eyes grew wide and seemed to sparkle with a hint of recognition and remembrance. Will stood up. He was overcome by ten years gone and the desire it had created. He didn't want to talk about Jack. He didn't want to talk about anything. He simply drew in a deep breath of the warm, live air and kissed his wife. Really, really, good and kissed her.

Eventually, William began to tug at Elizabeth's skirt, what Will could only assume was his tactful and polite way of saying he wanted to go home. His stomach began to twist and churn again; this was his home, where for one day he would live with his family. This is what it had all come down to and he didn't want to miss a detail. William ran before them and stopped suddenly. He turned around, lips pursed, corners pulled into a sly smile and he reached for Will's hand. Will's entire body felt dizzy, fuzzy, ecstatic; his left arm pulled along by his son and his right arm curled around his wife.

And he had been incredibly pleased that night, to know that he had been right all along. It _had_ gone back to the way it was before he left. They shared a meal, huddled around a table by the hearth, all of Will's prepared questions now forgotten. He simply wanted to exist here, drink them up, make the memory last for another long decade aboard the Dutchman.

And when his son had finally fallen asleep, Elizabeth led him to her bedroom, which for tonight was _their_ bedroom. All of things he wanted to know were of little import, he realized then. It didn't matter. All that mattered were his hands on her bare skin, her lips on his. She didn't resent him, of this much he was sure. She didn't love him any less. She let him right back in, eager as he was to begin where they had left off.

He didn't need to sleep, of course, and so, he simply watched Elizabeth all night as she slept, curled into his arm. He wondered if they had made another baby that night, if that was even possible. He wondered how she would feel about that. He wondered if she felt as full and complete as he did as she slept. But the sleepy smile she wore answered that question, didn't it? This visit was the canary in the coal mine; it could have ended up so much differently. Content at last, he pulled his wife close, matching her breath for breath until the sun began to rise.

--

William was the first one awake that morning. He had slept a deep, contented sleep, more restful than any other night he could recall. He woke up, absolutely ready to face the day. And then he remembered _why_ he was so content and was on his feet at once, running out of his room and down the hallway. He would have the _whole day_ to spend with his father, this glorious stranger who had come to his home as promised. As if meeting him in the first place hadn't been enough!

He was surprised to find the heavy door to his mother's room closed. She never closed the door, not ever. It confused him, but he simply resolved himself to find his father, who would have to be around here somewhere. He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. No one was there. He walked out of the front door and peered down the path and across the land. No one was there, either. He turned to go back inside, put a hand on the doorknob, and was surprised as the door nearly opened itself. On the other side, though, stood his father.

A million thoughts hit young William at once. His father had lived up to everything his mother had told him and more, even exceeding the expectations his young mind had concocted while lying in bed at night. He was in awe of the man who stood before him; presumably a fearsome pirate and brilliant swordsman, the immortal captain of the fabled Flying Dutchman but also a warm and kind person. William had never met anyone quite like him. Did his father love him back? Was he proud?

The elder Will's smile answered that. "William? What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

"I was…looking for you," he admitted quietly, "Father."

His father laughed and knelt down to his level. "Mum is still asleep. Would you show me around?"

Oh, how William's heart soared at that! He didn't want anything more than to show his father where he lived and what he liked to do! He wanted to show his father how brave and strong he was, what a grown up boy he was. His body betrayed him with a giggle and a nod; decidedly not things that valiant pirates did. "What do you want to see?" he asked.

"Well, show me where you and Mum like to go."

"We mostly go into town."

"How about you take me there?"

William had never been allowed to go into town by himself! He had never gotten to lead the way. He nodded earnestly, resolved to take his job seriously. He took his father's hand and led him down the path and out the gate, all the way down the hillside and into the port city. It was much calmer by day than it was by night, but still held the bustle of any healthy port town. There were taverns, inns, shops and a market. They walked past the Stewart's Inn, William explaining in earnest how his mother was in charge, how she kept order with an iron fist. They walked past the markets where he and his mum often came to order supplies for the tavern, William explaining that if he was good, his mother would let him have an orange. He added that he almost always got the orange.

He couldn't believe himself, that his words were flowing forth this easily. He hadn't realized that he had that much to say about his quiet life in Tortuga. But then, it was more than that. He hadn't realized he'd be this comfortable around his father. They continued to walk, now in a comfortable silence, William suddenly self-conscious, not wanting to say too much. Gradually, the familiar smell of burning coal and molten iron began to fill the air as they passed the town smithy.

His father slowed to a stop and he looked up at him, questioning.

"Hold on…son," Will said. "I just want to see…"

That was right! His father had been a blacksmith before he had been a pirate! Maybe it made him less homesick to watch the blacksmith working, he reasoned. He followed his father to the open window of the shop where someone was working steadily, hammering a piece of molten metal against and anvil with a hammer. His father stared at the sparks somewhat nostalgically. William wondered what he was thinking.

"What's he making?" William blurted out without thinking.

"A horseshoe," he responded simply, still staring into the forge.

"Oh. So it's not a sword?" William asked. "Mum said you made the best swords in the Caribbean."

Will laughed at this, turning to face his son. "That was a long time ago, William. I don't know that I could go back to it."

"But you still _have_ a sword, right?"

"I do."

William looked away. He wanted so badly for his father to teach him swordplay. That would surely impress the other children. But mostly, he just wanted to be able to use all of that bravery for something. Maybe someday, when he was older, he'd be a sailor, too. Maybe he'd meet a fearsome attacker and need to save the day. Maybe someday _he_ would have to save his mum from certain peril. It was just so much to ask from this hero who walked beside him. Would he laugh at William for even asking? Would he turn him down to being too small, too scared? But, oh, he just _had_ to be brave!

"Will you teach me?" he asked, his voice almost a squeak.

"Teach you what?" His father cocked his head towards him expectantly.

"How to…use a sword."

Will chuckled at this, and William recoiled immediately. His worst fears had been confirmed: his father clearly thought he were nothing but a tiny baby, incapable of protecting _anything_, let alone his mum. He was silly to have thought that the incredible man beside him would be willing to spend his only day on shore teaching him how to handle a sword. He shouldn't have even asked.

So he was surprised when his father grinned genuinely and said, "Sure!"

And so, they made their way back to the cottage on the hill. William found two long sticks for them to practice with. It was absolutely wonderful, hearing his father's voice, feeling his father's hands around his own. He complied enthusiastically with everything his father told him, treating every detail with great importance. He watched his father move and speak carefully; it was clear to him that his father was a master, that his body had every move and maneuver unconsciously memorized.

His reverie was broken when he heard the cottage door open. His mother appeared on the threshold with an air of contentment William had never seen before. Her features looked somehow softer, her eyes were brighter and she wore a slight smile. His father dropped his stick and ran to her, the very same sparkle in his eyes. They had their arms around each other and were whispering to each other, heads close, both of them beaming. William didn't understand how to describe what he was seeing, but they both looked so happy. He felt a twinge of heartache at this, for not even time spent with him made his mother look this brilliant. But, it intrigued him as well. It was as if they were somehow complete when near each other, two halves of the same whole.

They packed food into a basket together, and walked down to the beach hand in hand, a happy familial unit. They sat in the sand, eating, talking, and, William had to admit, there was a lot of hugging and kissing going on, especially between his parents. Things had never been so serene in his life. He hadn't even realized it could feel like this, be like this. They chased the waves together, all three of them lost in dizzy laughter. But what surprised him the most was the change he saw in his mother. She never laughed. She never glowed. But then, he was glowing, too, wasn't he? He suddenly didn't want it to end. Suddenly, one day every ten years didn't seem like a gift any longer. It seemed unfair. It seemed impossible.

After a time, they lay quietly in the sand together, a tangled heap of arms and legs. William had just begun to entertain the thought that he never wanted to move again when his father stopped and looked up at the sky. "We're losing sunlight," he said quietly. His mother froze as though the air had been knocked out of her. She looked so sad, suddenly, the same tired, sunken-eyed look she always had now returned. William looked nervously between them, the moment of perfection suddenly behind them. He didn't know why, but he wanted to scream and cry. He felt…desperate for the first time in his short life.

His mother turned to him and knelt gently before him. She smiled sadly. "William, it's…it's time. Tell your father good-bye and go back to the house." Her voice was gentle, small, scared.

"No," he said, his voice harsh in a way he hadn't intended.

"William, please…" his mother warned, tears at the corners of her eyes. But, he stared at her with alarming will and defiance. He wasn't going anywhere. This wasn't happening. Not if he could help it.

"Elizabeth," he heard his father say, his voice soft and full of pain. The elder Will looked sad, torn, and just as desperate as his son. He could see wetness in his father's eyes and it scared him to be part of something so unjust that it could reduce his father to tears. No, he couldn't let it end like this.

Suddenly, he had an idea. Just as his mother opened her mouth to scold him, he bolted off in the direction of the cottage. He didn't have much time. He threw the door open, not bothering to close it. His feet pounded heavy and rushed down the hallway right into his mother's room. He began jumping up and down on floorboard. He swore that it he had seen a floorboard up all of those years ago, but his efforts seemed futile. All of the floorboards were intact. And the sun was hanging lower in the sky.

Finally, he found it, the loose board right beside his mother's bed. With strength he didn't even know he possessed, he yanked the board out of place to reveal what he had been looking for: his mother's strange chest. He pulled it out and began to pry it open. But, what he had not considered was that it needed a key. The sun inched lower and lower.

He knew it couldn't be far; he had seen his mother open the chest right here. She would want it somewhere near, but where it was still safe. He began to rip pillows and linens off of the bed haphazardly. No luck. In another fit of desperate strength, he threw the mattress off of the rope frame. Sure enough, there was a small worn book hidden there with a key ring hanging out of it.

William's hands trembled as he opened his mother's secret chest, adrenaline pumping through his small body. He had never been a defiant child and had never so much as broken a rule, wanting not to hurt his mother or anyone else. But this rule, _this_ would have to be broken. He was overcome with a surge of excitement mixed with fear mixed with anger mixed with desperation…a completely unfamiliar sensation for the mild-mannered boy. Jack had given them the water for this reason. He just _knew_ it!

He lifted the lid of the chest and was absolutely horrified to see what he saw. It looked like a hog's heart, like he had seen at the butcher shop on trips to the market with his mother. But this was _beating_. It made him ill, it made him freeze in place. Still, he had no time to waste. He would just have to be…brave, somehow. His eyes were wide, his stomach churned and his hands were shaking violently as he grabbed the three small vials that were still nestled in the chest. In his fear and haste, one of the vials shattered in his hand, the water pouring all over the heart. He gulped, shut the chest and carefully as he could, ran out of the cottage and back down to the beach with the vials in hand.

From afar, he could see his mother sobbing with his entire body her fists beating the air and then beating against his father's chest, then, she grabbed at him. He had heard his mother pray to Calypso before, but now, she was yelling demands into the sky, yelling at his father to summon her. William was terrified by this; he had seen his mother upset and withdrawn, but never hysterical, never like this. He had to save her, save his family! And his father, half turned towards the beach, visibly pleading with his wife. He was trying to leave! William had no time left to lose.

"Mother! Father!" he screamed. "I…" he panted "I…have the water! From Jack! We can leave together!"

Suddenly, both parents froze, eyes fixed on him.

"See?!" He held up the vials. "We have to drink it now, Mother!"

"William," his mother approached him cautiously. "Give those to your father. Right. Now."

"No!" William screamed with all of his might. "No! We have to!"

"William, do as you mother says," his father said, his voice laced with fear, his hand cautiously extended.

"No! I'm going with you! I'm not letting you go away from us!" His face was red and sticky with tears he hadn't even realized he'd been crying.

"William, I'll come back, I promise," the elder Will tried to gently reason. "I'd never leave you…Please, William, I'll find a way. It's too dangerous with me."

"I'm brave enough!" With that, without another word, William opened the vial and swallowed the entire contents. His mother tried to run towards him, but froze, not able to take another step. His father looked panicked and torn. He didn't understand! All he was trying to do was keep them together! And now they could go together!

"Elizabeth," his father began cautiously, "take…take the other vial."

His mum looked at his father in a state of absolute shock, like she couldn't understand what was being suggested.

"Elizabeth, please. We can't…I won't let you…"

She nodded silently, slowly closing the distance between herself and William. Suddenly, her mood was completely different. He could feel her, from where he was, go from sad to angry, just like that. She looked at him with an absolutely poisonous glare. He had never in his life felt as much fear as in that moment, his mother's smoldering eyes trained on his. She tore the vial from his hand without breaking eye contact. She looked at the elder Will, her eyes softening, apologetic even. "We'll sail off the edge of the map as soon as arrangements can be made," she said softly. Something in her tone, something only William could hear, was laced with venom. He didn't understand.

Under her breath, she was still pleading with the sea goddess to spare them, to help them. Somehow the prayers always went unanswered. He watched his father's retreating figure and wondered how his mother maintained any faith at all. _If _she really maintained it.

Suddenly, the Dutchman disappeared from the horizon. His father was gone and his faith was waning, too.


	5. Part V: The Little Green Flash

Disclaimer: I do not own characters, objects, plot lines or anything associated with Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean franchis

Disclaimer: I do not own characters, objects, plot lines or anything associated with Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.

Well, this is it. I hope you enjoy the thrilling conclusion!!

I've had a really rough week, kids. I would really love some reviews. 3

Again, thanks go out to oh-you-pretty-things, unacymbal, Williz, JackE and RoxanneJ.

**Part V: The Little Green Flash**

**or**

**It Only Takes a Moment**

For a while, she stood frozen to the spot. _That_ had been unexpected. He had never before blamed her for this mess, and she had never and, until now, would have never thought she deserved it. Still, something about what he had just said had cut deep. Deeper than she thought she could still be cut. As it turned out, he _could_ still get to her.

She had considered the option of immortality long before the afternoon of Will's first visit. Before she found out she was pregnant with William, she lived for the day when Jack would return with the Aqua de Vida and she could sail immediately off of the edge of the map. There had simply been nothing to lose. Even during her pregnancy, she felt, albeit somewhat reluctantly, that it was the best choice, the only way for her husband to know his child. But as soon as she held William in her arms, in that very moment, she knew that she could never do that to her child, to rob him of the joy and pain of growing up, becoming an adult. Maybe he would fall in love as well, and he deserved to have the things she couldn't have. He deserved to grow old with his future wife, have many children and die happily. Just as she had wanted to badly to do.

She came to the realization then, that if her son were to remain mortal, she would have to remain mortal as well. And after everything she had experienced, she wanted for her son to have as normal a life as he possibly could; a desire that she nursed fiercely. It was because of that wish that she had struggled to tell William about her past, about his father, about their wild adventures. She hadn't wished to cultivate the same fascination with pirates as she once had. It had cost her almost everything, though it _had_ given her a beloved son. And when she looked at William, as much as it hurt her to admit this, she felt the most intense and significant love she had ever felt. She only wanted to protect him, nothing more.

So, she had been some awful combination of terrified and furious when William had taken the Aqua de Vida. He only wanted to stay with his father and, she later realized, keep her happy. Even at nine years old, he could sense how much she needed both him and Will to feel fulfilled and complete, but had clearly given no thought to the idea of being nine for the rest of eternity. There were so many things he wouldn't ever experience. So many things she could no longer do.

She could admit that the first several years had been…well, wonderful. She managed, in a matter of mere months, to track down Jack and soon after that, they were sailing again. William was beside himself with joy for those first few trips off of the edge of the map…he loved to sail and took to it instantly. After all, he had it in his blood. Elizabeth loved being back at sea as well, loved keeping company with Jack and her son.

And the weeks they spent on the Dutchman were some of the best in her life. William loved to help the crew, loved to pretend he was a pirate, and she supposed he _was _one, after all. Will went about his duty earnestly by day, but shared his quarters with her at night. Those _were_ the best nights of her life, though it was when she discovered that she could no longer bear children. This was something that didn't bother her at the time, as she was so lost in the delights of acting like a newlywed, finally.

They divided time between the Dutchman and their cottage. Elizabeth had responsibilities to see to in Tortuga, and Will of course had his responsibilities to the Dutchman, after all. It was not, by any means, totally ideal. Will joined them there each decade, and they spent 24 hours in a sweet pantomime of the life they had so wanted. However, as years wore on and Elizabeth and William didn't age, they were forced to move. And as people began to suspect things, they would move again. As the years wore on, the world seemed to feel as though it were closing in on them; everything was more and more crowded and it became near impossible for them to be alone and unnoticed. Elizabeth grew incredibly self-conscious in these years, terrified that they would be found out. She longed to spend forever on the Dutchman, but she was torn between her own wants and the need for William to experience a normal, real life. Time spent constantly around the dead couldn't be good for a young boy, and, after all, Will had a duty to attend to that she did not want to corrupt.

After ten visits, a century after the final battle with EITC, Elizabeth began to notice something rather unsettling. Piracy had begun to fade, most of the former buccaneers hired as privateers by the Royal Navy. And with the pirates, so too had their legends faded. Rumor had it that Shipwreck Cove had simply disappeared from the map. The legendary Captain Teague had not been seen or heard from in years. The once pear-shaped Isla de Muerte was peaceful, lush and tangible to any and every sailor in the Caribbean Sea. Stores of charts and treasure maps had simply vanished. Their old home in Tortuga had somehow become a calm and quiet port city. This unsettled Elizabeth greatly, and she began keeping the chest with her at all times, constantly checking on Will's heart. She tried to summon Calypso with renewed vigor in those years, but there was still no response. Elizabeth simply assumed the sea goddess had also faded away.

Following his eleventh visit, Elizabeth had gone with Will out to the beach, like always, but nothing happened. There was no ship. Will had said that curiously, he no longer felt its pull. They waited and waited together, both equally concerned over Will's fate. He even tried to apparate, something he never did intentionally, and couldn't. But the strange thing was that…nothing had happened. No tentacles, not even a reprimand from the elusive Calypso. Nothing. Elizabeth became instantly terrified that Will would be the next thing to cease existence, after all, it only seemed logical. This had driven another wedge between them; what with Elizabeth's constant anxiety that Will would leave her alone, for the rest of eternity, with a boy who wouldn't grow up. Slowly but surely, the self-protective resentment began to seep into their relationship like poison, its fury only fed by having to run from city to city, home to home, never allowed to simply be a family. They had lived on nearly every island in the West Indies, then had moved onto the mainland U.S. to cash in on the remnants of Manifest Destiny and the beginnings of the industrial revolution: cheap land, open spaces and plentiful work. But they had then realized rather quickly that small towns gossip and anything strange was committed to town legend quickly.

And now, here they were in New York City, where Will had insisted that they'd be invisible, that no one would notice them. No one would _want_ to notice them, he had said. Will hadn't faded away, not after another century and a half, and she had developed a theory about that based on some glass shards she had found in the chest. She could only assume, after all, that they had come from the third vial of Aqua de Vida that had gone unaccounted for. She was fairly confident that he wouldn't fade now, either, and that his immortality was now on the same terms as theirs.

She was also pretty sure that he had left the apartment again after their little fight, which she knew he often did. Only this time, she wasn't sure if he'd ever come back. And, curiously, she was actually afraid to leave the bedroom to confirm that suspicion.

Eventually, she did resolve to leave, resigned to face this next unpleasant turn of events. As if it could have gotten any worse! Not that she felt there was anything left to salvage between them, especially not after _that_ little display, but she knew Will and his propensity towards unnecessary displays of bravado. What if they were found out? What if she had to pick up William and move him again? And how could she explain to William that his father had left, perhaps permanently? She sighed and willed herself towards the door. It wasn't as though standing in the middle of her bedroom for the rest of eternity would change anything.

The apartment was completely silent, as she suspected it would be. She walked down the hallway to the kitchen, where the afternoon light was filtering gently through the one dingy window, everything perfectly still and silent. She peeked into the bathroom where the only sound was the soft, rhythmic tap of water droplets on the porcelain sink, but no indication of life. Finally, she walked into the living room. All was still. It didn't even look as though the door had been opened or anyone had passed through. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes since Will had stormed out, but her surroundings seemed to have already gotten over the initial shock and gone back about their business.

She sat, or rather flopped, down onto the sofa, staring out in disbelief. It had finally happened. He was finally gone. It was finally over. One of them had finally cared enough to pull the plug, to actually voice that this whole thing had gotten pointless, that there was nothing left. She had always thought that she would have been the one to finally do it, after all, she had all the reason to. _She _was the one keeping _him_ around, being merciful and giving him a place to live after all of his wrongdoing. _She_ had always felt that she was the noble one here, the martyr who accepted her fate of immortality gracefully, despite how fiercely she despised it. _She_ had the upper hand…right?

But today, he had voiced in what she assumed were no uncertain terms that he didn't love her any more, that he felt she had an equal hand in their fate. And for only the second time in their centuries long marriage, he had brought up the Jack kiss. That had been ages ago, completely out of reach, old news. Jack, the last time they heard from him, was in Vegas living it up, which despite its near-complete lack of water, was just the place for him. She had stayed with Will. In fact, she had endured immeasurable suffering to be with him, only to end up in a dead-end, loveless marriage that would simply never change or end. All for those few weeks of untainted bliss many years ago. Surely he couldn't have been serious in bringing up the Jack kiss! And, of course, he hadn't actually _said_ that he didn't love her…

Something nagged at her. Maybe he would have been more likely to protect her, to fight for their relationship in those critical moments after retrieving Jack from the locker if she had voiced her plan to him all along. No, it was pointless. He had already been torn between her and his father before kissing Jack and leaving him to the Kraken had even occurred to her. But, that small corner of her mind persisted. Perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps she should have told him, although she assumed he wouldn't see or would have understood unconditionally. Perhaps, she thought, she should have just smashed the vials of Aqua de Vida when she had the chance.

She got up and walked to a familiar corner of the living room and without much effort, wrenched up a floorboard. Sure enough, the chest was still there. She took the key from around her neck, where she still wore it in what she had convinced herself was an old habit. To protect them, was all. Sighing, she opened the chest.

She had not expected to be flooded with immense relief at seeing Will's heart still safely ensconced inside and she had certainly not predicted the wave of comfort that passed over her as she listened to the steady and absurdly familiar beating. She looked around her, which _was _out of habit, to make sure she hadn't been seen. But who was there to see her? With the exception of William, whom she assumed was still fast asleep, she had no choice but to assume that she was totally alone now.

The guilt hit her then, in large, menacing waves. She closed the lid of the chest and began to weep. She didn't know why exactly, but suddenly, she felt responsible for the entire mess. Is this what it had come down to? She'd live the through rest of human existence running around with one of the Lost Boys and a still-beating human heart? Why? What was she so afraid of? No, she reasoned, it wasn't like that. She was right. Will had only managed to make her feel bad, and that had been enough to surprise her, upset her. She took a deep breath and wiped her face with her sleeve. She'd come this far, after all.

Yes, she'd make dinner for William. Something he really liked. Maybe grilled cheese. Or English muffin pizzas. And then, she'd give him a bath and read him a few chapters of his book, and then she'd put him to bed. And the next morning, she'd wake up, free from the depressing morning routine at last, and then…she'd do the same thing. Again and again. Infinitely. The thought alone depressed her, but then again, what else was there? She couldn't age and she couldn't die.

As soon as she stood up, though, she heard the buzzer, which jolted her from her reverie very abruptly. Other than nights where they'd ordered take-out, she could honestly say that she had _never _heard their buzzer ring. She looked out the window and down at the front steps. There stood what she made out to be a dirty, dreadlocked homeless woman who presumably wanted money. She walked over to their buzzer and hit the 'Talk' button.

"Uh, I think you have the wrong building," she said immediately.

"Elizabeth Turner?" the voice asked. It was eerie and frighteningly familiar. It sent a chill up her spine.

"Y-yes? This is she. What do you want?"

The voice laughed. "I think I have something _you_ be wanting."

"That I want?" she asked, incredulous. "What could you possibly have…"

"Let me in."

The voice was just so _familiar_! And what did she have to lose? It's not like she could die. It's not like her son could die. The mysterious homeless woman could rob her of anything and she'd be no worse for wear. Hell, the mystery woman could even take the damn chest for all she cared! "Fine." She buzzed the door open and heard the stranger walk up the stairs with slow, heavy steps.

Finally, there was a knock at the door. Without looking, feeling especially bold, Elizabeth opened the door. She recognized the dirty, rank woman in front of her instantly. Calypso. "You," Elizabeth hissed, eyes flashing.

Calypso only laughed.

"Why are you here?" Elizabeth demanded, desperation in her voice. "Why _now_? After all these years that I've been trying to reach you…"

"Because I _asked_ her to be here," said a soft, commanding voice behind her. She spun around and found herself face to face with Will, arms crossed across his chest, a self-satisfied half-smile on his lips. Next to him was a drowsy William, who was watching the whole scene with wide, wondering eyes. Will must have been in William's room this whole time!

Calypso grinned in her crooked way and approached Will. She extended her hand and ran her fingers slowly down Will's jaw. "William Turner, I have what you asked for."

Elizabeth's stomach burned as she watched Calypso enter her home so carefree and easily, as though the lifetimes she had spent trying to summon the sea goddess hadn't mattered. And to Calypso, they probably didn't. But to come so quickly when _Will_ had summoned her? And then to have the nerve to touch him like that in front of her son? "What? What did he ask for?"

Calypso turned on her heel and with her characteristic leisurely gait, approached Elizabeth. She smirked and opened her palm, revealing 3 small vials for mere seconds before wrapping her grubby fingers back around them. "It be the antidote he seek."

"Antidote? Antidote to what?!"

But no one answered her. Calypso turned and dropped the vials into Will's hand. Elizabeth watched him as he set them down on a little washstand by the door. She made a mental note then to confiscate and destroy the vials later. "Thank you, Calypso," Will said in a smug, faux-polite tone.

"William Turner, I believe our debt be settled, then. I will be going." She stepped towards the door. "'Tis a good thing you reached me before I be gone," she added cryptically, flashing her disgusting, uneven smile one more.

"Gone? What are you—" Elizabeth began incredulously.

"Eventually, Miss Elizabeth," Calypso began, her voice low and teasing, "_everything_ must come to an end." With that, she simply faded from view, presumably never to return.

For a moment, all was silent. Elizabeth could simply not quite process what she had seen. Or heard, for that matter. But a movement she caught with the corner of her eye brought her back to the present: Will's hand reaching for the vials. "What are you doing?!" she snapped.

He retracted his hand and looked away from the vials immediately, startled. "I'm just…"

"Just what, Will? Just trying to undermine me in every possible way?"

"_Undermine you_? What the hell are you talking about?"

Elizabeth huffed, her face red with anger. The previous twinge of guilt gone and new resentment burning in the pit of her stomach, as though there hadn't been enough already. "That little display, Will. You must have known after two-hundred-some years that I wanted to speak to her, and you can just call on her, just like _that_?! Lovely job communicating, Will. Really spectacular."

"I really don't think you have any right to talk to me about communication skills, Elizabeth."

But Elizabeth ignored her, continuing her tirade. The anger had simply never been this raw, this apparent to her. "And what was she talking about, a debt? What could she possibly owe you? And for _what_ exactly?"

The idea of what she had just implied incensed Will immediately. He approached her, effectively closing the distance between them, leaving the vials out of sight. His face was red, his eyes dark and his voice low and icy. "For one hundred years, _one century_, I had the thankless and brutal job of doing _her_ dirty work, captaining a ship of her creation. And now, I'm stuck with the fallout from that. _Forever_." He paused looking her directly in the eyes. "Perhaps, contrary to what you've assumed about her, she doesn't completely lack a conscience, and realized that I was allowed just compensation from her. In this case, an antidote to immortality."

"An antidote to…what?!" Elizabeth lowered her voice, matching his. "And you're just going to trust her, just like that?!"

"I most certainly am. And I'm going to insist that you and William trust her as well."

"It has always been very clear, Will, that she is not to be trusted. You know that as well as I do. _My son_ will most certainly not be ingesting anything she has supplied us with." Tears were coming now, betraying her self-righteous anger. She couldn't hold them back. "Why would you do this, Will? Why?"

Will stood up straight and swallowed. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Because I'm leaving you, Elizabeth. And I want this set straight before I do."

The words hit her with such force that she almost physically fell with their impact. But she didn't have time to react. Because, suddenly, from the street below, she heard a car horn, then a muffled scream, then an absolutely deafening crash. She _knew_ then, and the look in Will's eyes suggested he knew, too. But she looked around for him still. She spun frantically, hoping desperately to come to the conclusion that she was wrong, that nothing _was_ wrong, that she was only being paranoid.

But all she saw was one empty vial, sitting next to the two full ones on the small washstand by the door. She couldn't scream, she couldn't hear. But for once in her life, she was on her feet immediately, Will close behind her, running frantically down the stairs and out on to the street.

She fell to her knees when she saw it, her world ripped in two. She never expected to see this. Not ever. It was her absolute worst nightmare.

But there he was, her gorgeous son, her miracle child, her _raison d'etre_, sprawled on the street in front of her, curled violently halfway under a New York City cab. He was not moving. He was not getting up to tell her he was ok. There was blood all over him. And wound underneath him was a shiny red bicycle.

"Someone call an ambulance!" someone yelled. But she could just stand there on the curb, staring in horror, trying to breathe. There were no tears, no words, not anything. She could not bring herself to turn around and face Will, whom she could tell was behind her. Who was chanting steadily "_Oh my god, Oh my god…_" She hated him. She hated this. Mostly, though, she hated herself; the guilt from before welling up right underneath the shock of what she was seeing.

She drew in as deep a breath she could. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. Everything was blurry when she finally willed herself to William's side. She was shaking and when she tried to speak only a hoarse whisper came out. "Look at me," she choked. "Stay with me." But there was no response. None at all. She heard the sirens in the distance, and suddenly the sound was right there, accompanied by flashing lights and a growing crowd that she barely noticed and didn't acknowledge. An EMT pulled her out of the way to get to William, and that's when the tears began. Rough, jagged sobs. She hadn't cried like this since…could it be that despite everything she had not cried like this since the night on the island when Will had first left her?

They were able to pull William loose, still unconscious and, an EMT had told her in a hushed and somber tone, just barely alive. Relief flooded her system at this small ray of hope. She pulled herself into the ambulance next to the stretcher, ignoring Will, who had also climbed in. She wasn't ready to face him, not while her son hung in the balance. She grabbed her William's dangling hand and leaned close into him. She didn't need to face _that_ reality on top of the one directly in front of her eyes. "You're all right," she said gently to her son, half confirming, half demanding.

When they reached the hospital, William was rushed into surgery immediately. They wouldn't let Elizabeth go with, relegating her instead to a waiting room of the ER. She sat there, exhausted, emotionally drained and on the opposite side of the room from Will. He was curled up onto the chair, face completely blank, eyes focused on the wall. She took a deep breath and sighed. The hours wore on with an eerie slowness. The silence was deafening.

Finally, after hours and hours, a doctor approached them. "Mr. and…Mrs. Turner?" he asked cautiously, his voice soft and soothing.

They both stood up, two feeble, shaking bodies and weary faces. "Yes, that's…" a pause, "us," she managed to choke out.

The doctor took a deep breath. "Mr. and Mrs. Turner," he began. "We've done all we…" He stopped. "Your son sustained major injuries as a result of the accident. During this initial surgery we were able to stop much of the internal bleeding that resulted from a punctured lung and lacerations on his liver. He has several fractured ribs, his pelvis is also fractured and he has several cuts and bruises…"

"But he's alive?" Elizabeth asked hopefully, cutting the doctor off.

"He is," the doctor continued, "but Mrs. Turner, he's also sustained severe head trauma and we...we can't be sure of the extent of the damage." The doctor took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "We don't know when, or _if_, he'll wake up."

"No. No," Elizabeth whispered weakly, shaking her head. Her mind was reeling, her guilt now a tangible lump in her stomach. She had been so selfish, this whole time. She should have watched him better, should have stayed with him at that very first sunset instead of wanting that extra time alone with Will. She should have trusted them both more. She shouldn't have kissed Jack, not if that's what would have spared her son.

The doctor swallowed uncomfortably. "We have him in a room on the pediatric ICU. I can take you there if you'd like."

She didn't want to move, too overcome with the weight of everything. But Will began to walk behind the doctor, only pausing briefly. "Come on," he said roughly.

When they reached William's room, she was shocked. There he lay, still and bandaged, in the middle of all sorts of beeping machines and cords and tubes. She almost didn't recognize him, or didn't want to at least. She hated seeing such a perfect and innocent being like that. And that's what he was and had been all along: innocent.

She situated herself on the little bench under the window and simply stared at him, as though if she focused her energy hard enough on him, he'd wake up. He didn't deserve this, didn't deserve to bear the consequences of her misguided actions and selfish worries. He had only been trying to help all along, his intentions absolutely pure. And he had to have been aware of the resentment and silence that made up his family life, being the sensitive and perceptive child he was. And now, this. He must have formulated his plan almost immediately upon seeing the vials, must have grabbed one as soon as Will turned away from the door. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that he had been out of her sight. But a few minutes was all it had taken.

She looked across the room at Will, leaned up against the doorframe, his arms were folded across his chest as though he were physically holding himself together. His expression was defeated and his old eyes full of raw pain. She truly had cost him everything, then she had pushed him away and stopped listening to him. He was right to leave her. Her heart tied itself in knots as she studied his expression. She felt nauseous and turned her gaze to the floor. The feeling was curious; she had been shocked to see him in the apartment upon Calypso's arrival, yes, but then to hear him say those words… _I'm leaving you_. The whole idea had seemed so easy while she was formulating all of the reasons she had to leave him. It had been so effortless to plan her escape from an empty marriage; she had felt so damn vindicated. But something happened, something deep within her when he had uttered those words. She wanted to take it back, but suddenly, the decision had been stolen from her. It had weight and permanence. It confirmed assumptions that she realized she had hoped all along were untrue.

Surprisingly, Will was the first to break the silence. "I…I'm sorry," he began, voice trembling. Elizabeth looked up at him, confused. "I'm sorry about the bike. I'm sorry I bought the bike for him…you were right." He sighed. "I'm…sorry for not trusting you, for walking away from you and towards my father. I'm sorry that I wasn't there when you had William and when you raised him. I'm sorry it was so empty for you." His voice sounded resigned and defeated, as though he were a small child who was only apologizing because he mother was making him. He didn't mean it, she could tell. Not a word of it. He wasn't sorry. He just wanted to clear the air, clear his own conscience before he left. Not that she didn't deserve this sickening display of complete indifference from him. He cleared his throat. "But I've _always_ been sorry, and I think you know that. There's nothing left here, Elizabeth. I'm done trying." He took something out of his pocket, Elizabeth's eyes wide with confusion. In his hand there were the two remaining vials Calypso had given them. "Here," he said, holding them out. "I suppose I'll let you have the satisfaction of destroying these yourself. Do what you want with them. I tried to do what I thought was best. I…don't care anymore. I just wanted…I just wanted to see William one last time." He paused and a lump began to form in Elizabeth's throat. "I've made arrangements to get my things out next week."

He turned to leave and suddenly Elizabeth's heart began to race. She felt very suddenly as though the air had been knocked out of her as she was forced to watch Will _actually_ retreat from the room and from her life. That was it, wasn't it? It just hadn't felt real before, wasn't actually part of her reality. She had just been assuming, anyway, making the call for him. But this was _real_. She realized then, as Will reached the threshold, that she wouldn't have ever gone through with it. The truth was…she needed him. It was so easy to project her anger and frustration onto his ever-willing shoulders. He had been shouldering it for two and a half centuries and she had pushed him to his breaking point. Everyone had one, after all. It had just taken Will longer than the average person to reach his. But he was there now, wasn't he? And she had realized it, the very extent of her own selfishness and misdirected anger, far too late.

He had finally reached the door. His hand was poised on the knob, ready to leave forever and never look back. For the second time in her ridiculously long life, she watched as the action slowed to frame-by-frame. "No," she breathed suddenly. "No!"

Will turned and looked at her quizzically. "What, Elizabeth?" he asked flatly. "What could you possibly have to say…"

"No, Will. Please…no," she said, realizing jut how desperately she still needed him, in the face of everything, even after all the years of trying to convince herself that she didn't need anyone. "No. Don't leave."

He looked off to the side, as though he had to consider this. He stopped there in the doorway and simply looked at her expectantly. "Elizabeth…" he finally began, a warning tone in his voice.

"Please," she said, tears cresting the corners of her eyes, then forming little rivers down her cheeks. "I…" she stuttered, speaking almost in spite of herself, "I'm so sorry, Will."

Will folded his arms again, in that same smug way. He was intrigued by this, she could tell. Interested in where she was going with it. It had been unexpected, even to her, anyway. "I think it might be a little late for that," he said softly, almost inaudibly.

"Just…please." What was there left for her to say, anyway? There was nothing left, she decided, so she had nothing to lose. "Just stay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she sobbed.

He sighed, again resigned. "Fine," he whispered flatly, slowly approaching the bench. He sat on it uncomfortably, all the way on the other edge. He was silent, unmoving as she cried. He didn't even look at her; his eyes fixed on some unseen point on the opposite wall.

For a long time, they sat like this, each in their own private hell. Neither one of them, it was clear, had ever thought it would actually come to this. Elizabeth continued to cry, unable to calm herself. Will continued to sit there, unwilling to calm her.

Finally, it was Will that spoke. Very softly, his voice hollow and almost completely lacking in emotion, he began. "For a long time, I really _did_ blame myself for this. I blamed myself for the first wedding not happening. I blamed myself for pushing you away, right into Jack's arms. I blamed myself…for my own death, which is probably the most absurd thing I have ever thought, looking back on it." He chuckled a little at that, a sad and empty laugh. A disbelieving laugh. "I…I guess I shouldn't be so surprised then, that you blamed me as well. I would be lying if I said I lacked responsibility in creating this monster."

"Will…" Elizabeth began. "Don't—"

But he cut her off. "But responsibility is different than fault, isn't it?" Another sigh. "I just don't think I can do this anymore. I need to…I _wanted_ to get out before I stopped feeling completely. After all, we've both seen what happens when…"

"Will. Stop." Elizabeth sniffled, steadying herself. "This isn't your fault. It's not, and I…I'm sorry…I never realized…it's…" But then it dawned on her. Everything in her long life had been a confluence of events, a string of happenstance. She could trace this moment, this very one in a hospital in 2008, back to her crossing from England in 1730. Every moment since then had been important in creating this one. "It's no one's fault," she choked out finally.

"No," Will agreed.

"But I _am_ sorry. With my whole heart, I'm sorry."

He smiled, although very slightly. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"I've never been so sorry, actually. It's…it's definitely my responsibility, too."

"Yes," he responded simply.

There was another long silence, as if Will and Elizabeth were each trying to grasp the huge significance of what had been said. Each of them looked out across the room.

"Do you think there's anything left?" Elizabeth finally asked.

Will sighed. Finally, he turned to her. "It won't be easy," he responded.

"No." She was silent for a moment, her eyes softly focused on William's heart rate monitor, the little green flash slowly and rhythmically making its way across the screen. "You know, I don't think I can spend forever without him if he's gone."

And all was silent again. Finally, Will sighed. "You don't have to," he offered softly, opening his other hand in which he still held the vials.

"Will…"

"I know. But…this could be…"

"…our second chance," she finished for him, mildly surprised that she still could. But then, she wasn't was she? It really _was_ all still there. She had just protected herself from it for all these years. She took a vial from his hand. "Yes."

Silently, they each drank a vial of the antidote. She was surprised that she felt nothing; she had braced herself to feel something, anything to denote the change. What she did notice, however, was the taste of blood on the inside of her mouth where she had been biting her cheek. She had actually broken the skin, and it had _stayed_ broken! She laughed at this! The wound didn't immediately heal itself! "I'm bleeding!" she exclaimed, her face, ironically, beaming. "I'm bleeding!"

Will laughed, _actually laughed_, out of the very same absurd, delusional happiness. Or perhaps it was because there was simply nothing left, no hope in the world, save _this_. Then, at that very moment, for the first time in decades, Will wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She looked up into his eyes. By this point, they had been through, quite literally, everything together and she still loved him. Adored him. Without thinking, and almost out of habit, she pressed her lips to his.

Elizabeth was almost surprised he didn't pull away. More than that, though, she was _absolutely delighted_ that he didn't pull away. She didn't know how she had been able to disconnect herself so completely from something that fed her soul the way kissing Will did. It wasn't as though it had ever been a want; rather, it was something she needed, something that was simply an interwoven part of her.

Eventually, their lips parted, but Will kept his arms wrapped around her. Just that small action made her heart speed up. It offered her a tiny glimmer of hope. It was small and, in the grand scheme of things, it was insignificant, but there it was. She settled her head into his chest and was surprised she hadn't noticed it at first. Will's heart. Back where it should have always been. She listened to the familiar, rhythmic beating, now muffled and hollow sounding. "Will, your heart…" she started.

"I know," he breathed into her hair. "I know."

"I love you," she said after a long silence.

"I love you," he responded simply. "Here, come on." Will stood up and extended his hand to her. She looked at him, confused. "He needs us," Will said.

Elizabeth nodded and took a deep breath. Slowly, hand-in-hand, they approached William. It was so hard for Elizabeth to see him like this. She wondered if he could feel any pain, but guessed that he didn't, between his head injuries and the medicine. She was glad for that, at least, small joy as it was. Will's free arm curled around her waist, as though to steady her, offer her strength. She reached out then, taking William's hand in her own. Maybe she could offer _him_ strength as well. In fact, she thought, maybe everything would be ok. Maybe he would wake up and be fine. Maybe they would make it through this, settle into a permanent home and send William off to school. Maybe they would get to have more children and then, maybe they would grow old and tell their grandchildren fabulous tales about cursed treasure and swashbuckling pirates.

Life, Elizabeth thought to herself, was a funny thing; so easy to take for granted. Hope, too, was funny. Neither one was guaranteed, not _ever_, and both had to be fiercely cared for and maintained, even in the face of adversity. _Especially_ in the face of adversity. She didn't have much hope, nothing more than her husband's arm around her and the steady green flash on William's monitor. But if that's all she had, she decided, she would take it and be glad for it.


End file.
